


Enough

by hostilecrayon



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drabble, Introspection, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilecrayon/pseuds/hostilecrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of Desmond knows – maybe has always known – that he is not making it out of this alive. There will come a day when not even the combined skill of his ancestors will be enough to save him from a destiny that was determined long before he was born.</p>
<p>But right now, in this moment, he is alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I probably won't be writing any serious business long fic for AC for a while - so much research to be done first. But since I'm sending out Valentine's Day cards to a few friends with drabbles inside, apparently I'll be writing drabbles. Which is what this is. Written for Ame (Desmond Miles in our AssCreed Skype chat), this is pretty much not at all what I meant to write. Whoops.

**Enough**

Part of Desmond knows – maybe has always known – that he is not making it out of this alive. There will come a day when not even the combined skill of his ancestors will be enough to save him from a destiny that was determined long before he was born.

But right now, in this moment, he is alive. The bed beneath him is warm from his own body heat. He can feel the soft texture of the sheets against his skin as he shifts, and he knows without having to open his eyes that he is not alone, Shaun’s light wheeze of breath a constant, much-needed reminder.

He knows if he just reaches out, his fingers will brush against bare skin, Shaun’s pointy hipbone digging into his hand, and maybe he’d open soft eyes that would directly conflict with the sharp words that would undoubtedly follow. But then there would be touches and kisses and the sound of his name on Shaun’s lips - _his_ name, not Altair or Ezio but _Desmond_ – and it would be just one more thing to remind him that Desmond Miles is alive and well. Maybe not extremely well, but well enough to leave his mark on the world, even if that mark boiled down to a handful of memories entrusted to a snarky Englishman.

His limbs twitch with want, but Desmond reigns it in, not willing to wake the overworked, overstressed Shaun for his own selfish reasons. He tells himself there will be another chance – if he doesn’t, he may well lose his sanity before he loses his life. The chance of retaining both is non-existent, and Desmond is not foolish enough to hope for one.

But here, right now, Desmond Miles is perfectly lucid, sharing a bed with an uptight but extremely sexy Englishman, and he is very much alive.

It’s enough. It has to be.


End file.
